Ignorance is Bliss
by Guttersnipe
Summary: Don’t look. Don’t glance. Just glare at him. Ignore her. Stare at him. Pain follows your eyes, so just don’t…look at…her.


Ignorance is Bliss

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. That copyright belongs to Masashi Kishimoto.

_Don't look. _

_Don't glance._

_Just stare at _him. _Ignore _her.

This was not in his plans. When he had envisioned this moment---the pinnacle of his existence; the day he declared his superiority over the _one person_ who always seemed to be ten steps ahead---this is not how it went. In all of his dark fantasies of spilling his familial blood, of handing back the suffering that had been dealt to him, never had this twist presented itself.

He is a shinobi, with broken loyalties to two villages; a defender of neither, an enemy of both. Like all good shinobi---and that is good, as in skilled, for he certainly is not considered a respectable shinobi any longer---he has run through scenario after scenario in his mind of how this epic final battle will play out. He has clashed with his opponent hundreds upon hundreds of times in his mind's arena; the landscape ever shifting, the foe's tactics ever adapting. He has made allowance for every conceivable circumstance and worked out every kink that they entail.

_She_ is not one of them.

This _girl_. _She_ isn't supposed to be here. _She_ is _not _part of his plans. His perfectly strategized scenarios never held a trace of _her_ interference. Not once had he theorized the possibility of _her_ showing up at a time like this; in that condition, no less.

_She_ is wounded. Blood covers _her_ clothes and skin like a jacket that offers no protection. By the slight lean in _her _stance, he can immediately tell that _she_ has, at the very least, a sprained left ankle, possibly broken. A medic _she_ may be, but a good patient _she_ is not---apparently _she_ had expended the majority of _her_ chakra on the battle that won _her_ those wounds, leaving little to heal _herself_ with.

_Stupid _girl

But, if _she_ is here, then where is the dead last? That idiot has to be nearby, since he was always vowing to protect _her _and all such nonsense.

No matter. It is best that he isn't. Things would just get loud and annoying if he was.

_Dobe._

He doesn't know how or why _she _has come here, at this crucial moment---the moment he swore that time itself would cease its perpetual journey through the hourglass and watch his life's ambition either come to fruition or become his downfall; or both. Never had he wanted _her_ to be a spectator. This is wrong.

But, why should this be a problem? In their days together as Team Seven, he had always ignored _her_. Now is no different.

_Glare at _him. _Ignore _her.

That's all he has to do. So simple. It's so frustratingly simple a task, that it seems to forcibly mutate itself into something impossible in his clouded mind. Because, what if purposely _not_ looking at _her _gives the same impression to _that man _as it would if he _did _look at _her_? No, that's stupid.

_I'm not looking at _her_ because I don't care. I can't be bothered to spare _her_ a glance. _He _sees my focus on our battle, not this ridiculously insignificant confusion. No, it's not even confusion. There is no question here. I _don't_ want to look at _her_. It _doesn't _matter if _she's_ okay or not. This is my battle; my ambition; my existence in full swing. _

He narrows his eyes on _the man_ across from him. _He _has noticed _her_ as well, those dead-as-stone eyes scraping over _her _quickly, only to shift back to _his_ opponent, that frozen façade masking sinister calculation.

A chill slithers down his spine, though he does not let it show. He does not like the look _his _eyes have taken on; like _he _has discovered a precious secret; like _he_ has the trump card in his hand.

_Don't underestimate me, _nii-san.

"Aren't you going to help her? Sakura-san looks a little worse for the wear," _he _says, in that maddeningly monotonous tone, that makes him want to rip _his _throat out.

"Don't change the subject," he hisses. Old Snakey may have rubbed off a little on him. "We are ending this now!"

"Foolish little brother," _that man _says slowly, elusively; a panther on the prowl. "What did I tell you about bonds? Was I not clear enough when I told you that bonds only make you weak? Did my actions nine years ago not properly illustrate just what you needed to do to become strong enough to surpass me?" _he _speaks, in that bloody calm-as-death voice.

This has him ticked off. Just what is_ he_ playing at? He wants to fight, he wants to _kill_. But that _girl _and _his _words are playing the imp with his strategy.

_Yell at _him_. Not a word to _her.

"I've done what you told me to do," he says, controlled rage swirling about the edges of his voice. "I have done nothing but hate. I have trained so that I could one day---_this_ day---act on that hate, and kill you, just like you said."

_That man _casts another dead-eyed look at _her_. _She_ stands there, breathing slightly faster than normal, whether from fatigue or fear, he doesn't know. Probably both. _She_ is in no condition to fight, and just had the misfortune of stumbling upon their impending battle unawares. _She_ can't fight, but nor can _she_ leave; the moment _she_ limped into the clearing, disoriented from chakra exhaustion and _her_ wounds, _she_ became part of what will transpire next. They all know that.

_Glare at _him. _Ignore _her.

_He_ looks back at him, and when _he _speaks, _his_ voice holds the tone of a long-suffering parent, who is disappointed in their child's lack of obedience. "I told you to hate. It was a simple enough task. But even that, you failed miserably at."

He is ready to tear _that man's _spine out and shove it down _his _throat. How could _he _possibly know how much he hated unless they fight? If they would just begin their battle, he would show _him _just how much he hated.

"I hate plenty enough." His voice is frozen venom. "Now stop stalling. It's annoying."

_Hate _him. _Ignore _her.

"You don't hate," _he _replies, words smooth as ice. "In order to hate something completely, one must hate _everything_ completely. There is no room for any form of affection or _bond_ if one means to hate. Those things make room for other emotions and split devotion from your hate. They weaken your resolve to hate with all of your being, which is what is required of you in order to defeat me. It must be all you live for. Your only bond must be one of hate, nothing else."

"Shut up!" he yells, rage flowing in lava streams through his body. "I have done all that! Just shut up and fight me!" He settles into a fighting stance, ready for both defence and offence. But the attack doesn't come, and for some reason his body doesn't go in for first blood like his mind so desperately wants to.

"If you truly hate, then you won't care if, say, a kunai were to find itself lodged in her chest?" _that man_ spoke evenly.

A splash of red tears his eyes from _him _to _her_. _She_ is on _her_ knees, one hand planted on the earth, the other clutching at the hilt of a kunai that protrudes from _her _chest. Realization dawns on him as he watches _her _struggle for breath. The harsh metal of the weapon has punctured _her_ right lung, likely severing the main bronchus in the process.

_This _is how _he _has decided to test his hate. If he passes this _test_, he can fight _him_. _He_ will accept that he has enough hate within him. If he passes the test…

_Sick freak._

_Get ready to attack _him. _Ignore _her.

_But _sheis _badly injured…_

_Ignore _her. She _is fine._ She _is a medic, after all…_

…_whose chakra is next to zero._

_Ignore _her. _Don't show any reaction. _He _wants to see my hate. I can't react. _He'll _accept it if I just don't react. Ignore _her.

His opponent is eying him with a slightly livelier gaze. _He _is gauging his response to what has just happened. If he so much as twitches a hair, _he _will know. _He _will know that it is _not _all right. _He _will know that he is reeling with invincible feelings that he has hidden beneath hate, but never truly eradicated.

_Bonds… _How he wishes it were as easy to do away with them as it sounds when _he _says it. But it has always been that way. _That man_ has always been able to master things far faster and far easier than he could.

But, all he has to do is make _him _think he has destroyed all his bonds; that he truly hates with all of his being. _He _must be made to believe that.

_That man_ has a ghost of a smirk on his lips. _He _seems pleased.

"How cold of you, Sasuke. Your comrade is near death and you do not even bat an eye."

His eyes narrow imperceptibly on _that man_.

_The test isn't over yet._

She _is in need of help _now.

_Ignore _her.

That man _is going to use her again._

_Ignore _her. _It will be fine if I just ignore _herHe _is looking for a reaction. I won't give him one. _He _will be satisfied and abandon this _test_ so we can finally fight._

_Unless he wants to __take it a step further and kill _her.

_Ignore _her!

_He_ has his emotionless gaze on him, never wavering, poised to catch any miniscule reaction that he might be attempting to mask from _his _sight.

"_She _is not my comrade. We have no association, no ties," he speaks evenly, lying with an ease that only comes from having a conscience that has been slumbering under heavy anaesthesia for years. "Consider us as being alone here."

_Don't look. I don't want to see the look on _her_ face._

_Too late._

_Ignore _her.

_She_ has a pained expression on _her_ face, and it is clear that it's not only from the wound in _her_ chest. The flash of hurt that occupies _her_ eyes is enough to let him know that _she_ still holds hope that he still cares for them; his old team-mates. That he would someday return. That his betrayal had been committed out of a feeling of necessity, not because they meant nothing to him.

_How foolish._

_How right, though._

_But that cannot come into play now. Later, perhaps, but not now._

He trains his hardened gaze solely on _him_. Distractions and flaring tempers have kept him from achieving his ambition in the past. This day will be different. He will _not _let _that man_ live to breathe the same atmosphere as he does. _He _will begin his new profession as a rotting corpse _today_. There is no more waiting. All holds have been unhinged. It ends now. It _has to _end now. He can't---he _won't_---keep going like this any longer. He has given too much to this one thing; hisMeisterstück; his bloody masterpiece. It has to culminate today. It just _has_ to.

With those thoughts to drive him, he makes the first move, striking out at _the man_ he hates more than anything else in the world. _The man_ who had destroyed his life in a single night of bloodletting. _The man_ who he has further ruined his own life for.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he _knows _that it was completely illogical to have effectively killed himself in order to deal death to another. To have ruined himself so he could ruin _him_. To throw back what _he _had so gracelessly dropped upon him by smothering his own life.

Perhaps he has not heeded his _nii-san's _instructions as well as he thought. Oh, he hates _that man _with a vengeance no demon could ever top. That is certain. But did he cling pitifully to life, as _he _had told him to. Did he survive in an unsightly way?

No. He did not survive at all. He killed himself to get to this point. He is not alive. He is merely a corpse still twitching in its death throes, feigning life, but possessing none.

It did occur to him in the recesses of the murk that is his thoughts, that if he succeeds---no, _when _he succeeds, for failure is _not_ an option, remember---that it will all mean absolutely nothing. In the end, it will change nothing. His pain, his loneliness, his anger, and his sorrow will still remain, ever clear.

And so the question rises in his mind, as he throws his all into attacking _that man_---what is the point? It is not for happiness, for he knew from the beginning that revenge would never bring him such a thing---_she _knew that as well. _She _had told him that just before he left _her _on a bench. _Her_ words had not made a difference though. He had already been fully aware of the fact. It is not about happiness.

So, if not for happiness, then what? Peace of mind? He is not so naïve as to believe that his nightmares will vanish with the death of _him_. They are far too deeply ingrained within his subconscious, he is certain that they can never be scrubbed out.

Is it to put to rest the souls of the slain? He could snort at the thought. The spirits that haunt him exist solely in his fractured mind. They fall in with his horrifying dreams, as they too are etched into his being with acid from red spinning eyes. Those marks cannot be smoothed out.

_So what is it about, then?_ he asks himself, in a hidden corner of his shrivelled---and he is quite certain, nonexistent---soul. The answer evades him, if there is one at all.

Not that he cares. He chose this path. It is his to walk and see through to the end, whatever that finale may be. _No one_ could accompany him with this. Not the dobe. And certainly not _her_. That is his one absolute in all of this; what he chose to become, what he chooses now to complete, it all has to be done alone. _Her _laying there with a steadily gushing wound in _her_ chest, _her _breaths quickly becoming shallower, is perfect proof of that vital fact.

_Stop looking. Focus on the battle. Ignore _her.

_But why?_

_Just _do

His battle is not going as he has always envisioned. It is supposed to be epic; a clash of gods that shakes the foundation of Heaven and the sky of Hell. It should be glorious; a righteous crusader hell-bent on taking down the great deceiver. It is to rage with indelible attacks and stratagems, all to culminate with the dimension-shattering climax of the Avenger slaying the Betrayer, who utters with his final breath, the words that will give the Avenger his entire reason for pursuing this "life" and ignite his burning need to carry on in a new one.

But it is not like that. Their vicious spar carries on with the same atmosphere of any other fight. There are neither grand tactics, nor a sudden turning of the tables just when one seems to have the upper hand.

And it all ends with a simple katana through the chest and spine, chidori rippling through it for good measure. Thebody doesn't hang there in static for heart-pounding moments before it floats down to the marred earth in slow motion. No, it plummets like a stone dropped from a cliff, the life powering it having left the instant the sharp, crackling metal severed its spine.

Profound confessions do not sprout amidst staggered breaths, from the mouth of the defeated nin. Only a thin trickle of blood and possibly saliva creep out of the corner of the slightly parted lips.

Red eyes do not stare up at their slayer, ceding defeat and weakness. They are a dark shade and stare lifelessly up at the gently swaying treetops, never to gaze upon their opponent again.

He stands there for a few seconds, unsure as his mind processes what has just happened. He watches as blood flows out from beneath the slain form in a slowly growing pool, lacking a working heart to force it out any faster.

To his right, barely a metre away, another vermilion lake is forming. He watches it grow for a moment, his dazed mind not immediately grasping what his eyes are seeing.

Then it dawns on him. And his weakened and heavily-wounded body drops to its knees, a show of strength no longer necessary.

The situation makes itself known to his lethargic mind. _He _is dead. He finally killed _him. She _is dead. _He _killed _her _because _he _wanted proof of his hate, of his severed bonds.

She _is dead._

_I couldn't stop it. _

_Look at _hershe's_ dead. _

_No, don't look.__ I don't want to see that._

_I could have stopped it._

_No, I couldn't have. _She _shouldn't have been here. I couldn't accommodate _her_ involvement in my strategy. I couldn't deal with that. I was supposed to do this alone._

_I didn't even try. I didn't even try…_

_But try what? Any attempt to save _her _would have made _him_ believe me unworthy of fighting _him _and still left _her_ as a target. _

_I could have helped _her_; prevented _him _from throwing that kunai or blocked it. I could have tried. _He_ would have deemed me unworthy of fighting _him_, but I could have just attacked anyway and forced a fight and won that way. Instead of like _this

_Different circumstances might not have resulted in the same outcome. If I had helped _her_, that would have changed the whole battle dynamic. I could have lost that way._

_Instead, I won and _she_ died. If I had died in this, then that would have been fine because it was _my _choice. But _she_ is dead because of a life _I_ chose, though I don't know why anymore. I can't justify this life and so I cannot justify _her_ death with it. This is a pointless death. _

_Stop__ thinking about it. Ignore _her_. I'm not supposed to care._

_But I do…and _he_ knew. I hid it well, but still…_

He_ saw that the bonds weren't cut completely. But _he_ saw my ambition had come to the forefront of it all. _He_ knew I wouldn't back down for anything and if I won, this would be _his_ final blow to me. A spiteful taunt to remember _him_ by. _

He _knew. Even when I didn't, _he _knew. Always ten steps ahead…_

He just sits there between _their_ two cooling bodies, knees caked with mud made of dirt and blood. He stares at the tousled earth between the corpses, watches as _their _blood pools flow together, forming a red sea that joins the two bodies. One he hated, still does, always will. The other, he feels something different for. He is not sure what, but he knows it is not hate. Not hate, but strangely, it is a lot more challenging than that. It is maddeningly difficult to ignore, especially when coupled with those limpid green eyes and steadfast smile.

_That smile._

It doesn't matter how much he ignores it, it never wavers; it doesn't fade. An insult doesn't scratch it; a cold shoulder doesn't faze it. It remains ever faithful, even when he is not. Even now, as _she _lays in an ocean of _her _killer's and _her _own blood, that smile plays ever-so faintly on _her_ paling lips.

And it bothers him that _she_ still smiles for him. After so long, _she_ still does this for him. Only for him. So, he looks away.

_Don't look at _her. _Ignore _her.

Ignorance is bliss but, a faint smile floating on a sea of red seems so blissfully ignorant of its situation, it makes him wonder who would be idiotic enough to believe that saying…

_Don't look._

_Don't glance._

_Ignore _her.

…Apparently, he is.

**The End**


End file.
